Getting Scot and Bothered: a ridiculous secret-baby medieval romance (The Hots for Scots Book 3) by Caroline Lee

Author:Caroline Lee [Lee, Caroline]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-06-03T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

He didn’t come home last night.

Sighing, Merewyn looked around her small cottage. Funny, it had never seemed too small when Rocque was here, although it should have. Now, she supposed she should start collecting his things to send back to the barracks.

Because he’d made it clear there was no future between them.

Last night she’d lain awake in bed, praying she’d hear him outside, or see him come through the door. Eventually she cried herself to sleep, and woke this morning to a cold bed.

Best get used to it.

He’d made his choice. All he’d had to do last night was say, “I love ye.” But he couldn’t, and that answered her question easily enough.

Before the tears began to fall again, Merewyn snatched her basket up from its hook by the door—Rocque had installed that hook, now that she thought of it—and stepped out into her garden. ‘Twas a lovely summer afternoon, and she’d be damned if she was going to spend the rest of the day moping.

The sun was already creeping lower in the west, and with a start, she realized she’d missed both meals of the day. She still wasn’t hungry, but knew she must eat dinner, for the sake of the bairn if naught else.

The bairn, who would know his father, even if his parents weren’t married.

Even if his mother is too bloody stubborn to marry a man who doesnae love her.

Scowling at her own subconscious, she settled on her knees in front of her rosemary plant.

‘Twas a sprawling monster of a plant, one which had spawned many clippings and offshoots. Half the village now had rosemary in the gardens, thanks to this plant.

As she always did, whenever she passed, Merewyn pinched a few leaves from the end of a stem, rubbing them between her fingers. Then, absentmindedly, she lifted the crushed leaves to rub behind her ear and at the hollow of her neck.

Rosemary was Rocque’s favorite scent, and she always made certain he’d be able to smell it on her.

Not that it mattered anymore.

Sighing, she flicked away the leaves, reached for her shears, and began to prune. The longer stems, she’d hang to dry in her rafters. Some she’d send up to the keep for Cook to use. Some she’d bundle for burning—the smoke masked fouler scents from other herbs—or soaking in hot water. Lady Agatha used the bundles in her bath water, occasionally.

Aye, her rosemary had plenty of uses.

Plus, it was nice to be busy. Listing the uses for the bundles she was now setting aside was good for Merewyn’s peace of mind.

She knelt in her garden, surrounded by green life, nurturing her own new life inside of her, and tried to breathe deeply and think of the future.

“Merewyn?”

The quiet call jerked her from her contemplation, and when she swung her gaze up, Jessie flinched away. The girl was standing in the shadows beside the house, her arms wrapped around her middle.

“Hello, lassie!” Merewyn straightened, brushing her palms against one another as she forced a smile for her patient.

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